


Kick at the Darkness 'Til It Bleeds Daylight

by the_deep_magic



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Barebacking, Bondage, Bottom Derek Hale, Collars, Established Relationship, Fingerfucking, Future Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Light BDSM, M/M, Rimming, Top Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-19
Updated: 2012-11-19
Packaged: 2017-11-19 01:11:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/567343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_deep_magic/pseuds/the_deep_magic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles will never forget the day Derek first shoved the brand-new leather straps into his hands, mumbling a question Stiles couldn’t quite understand because all he heard was the unspoken <i>I’ve never trusted anyone else with this</i>.  Stiles is sure he probably gaped like a fish for a full minute before throwing his arms around Derek and promising him anything he wanted, whenever he wanted it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kick at the Darkness 'Til It Bleeds Daylight

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this amazingly beautiful](http://ucanhavemysoup.tumblr.com/post/33529139948/mountain-ash-wolfsbane) (and probably NSFW) bit of fanart. Title from the Barenaked Ladies' "Lovers in a Dangerous Time."
> 
> As a side note, the D/s in this is more care-oriented than pain-oriented.

Stiles always takes his time buckling the collar around Derek’s throat.  It’s something that should be appreciated: the thick, worn, fleece-lined leather dark and heavy against pale skin.  Stiles checks the fit out of habit, just tight enough that he can barely slip a finger between collar and skin – they both know exactly how tight it needs to go, but it’s become part of the ritual, part of the slow build they both need.

If the collar is beautiful, the sight of the thick leather strip that drops from it down the length of Derek’s back is breath-taking, and Stiles runs his fingers over it like it’s Derek’s own skin.  The cuffs are already on, and Stiles takes one wrist at a time, fastening each cuff to the leather strap, binding Derek’s hands behind him.  Hands that are starting to clench into fists as Derek’s entire body starts to draw tight with the feeling of being restrained.

Stiles is back around to face Derek in a second, running his hands down flexing biceps, over a heaving chest and tight stomach.  He knows Derek’s eyes are red under closed lids; Derek’s instincts tell him to fight it, to snap the leather like crepe paper and break free.  And he could.  It’s Stiles’ firm touch over painfully tense shoulders that settles him, helps him find that place in his mind that’s blissfully quiet, free of the anger and the howling.

The words help, too.  The words that Derek can’t ask for but needs anyway, and lucky for him, Stiles knows them all, has taken the time to learn each one.  _So gorgeous_ is easy, whispered against Derek’s cheek, as is _just like this_.  _Mine_ took some work – the resistance coming not from Derek’s wolf but from Derek’s ego – but it’s worth it for the high whine in Derek’s throat, the way it segues so easily into _all for me_.  When they get to _good boy, so good for me_ , Derek is ready, shoulders relaxing slowly and eyelids opening to reveal beautiful hazel-green. 

Stiles kisses him reverently then, hands cupping Derek’s face.  Derek presses in a little, but Stiles keeps it slow, slower.  _Easy_ , right up against Derek’s mouth so they can both taste the word.  Because he needs to be reminded, Derek does, that not everything needs to be pushed.  Some things need to be unfolded slowly, carefully but not always gently, as Stiles’ teeth on Derek’s chin can attest.  Maybe it’s a little unfair, provoking Derek like this, but Stiles likes to play, and the score – here, if nowhere else – is always even in the end.

When they finally break for air, Stiles doesn’t even have to ask; Derek is dropping to his knees the moment their lips part.  Stiles’ shirt is already gone, but he only has time to flick open the button on his jeans before Derek’s face is pressed to his crotch.  Stiles lets out a gasp, and that’s _before_ Derek takes the tab of the zipper in his teeth and slowly draws it down and open, eyes playing at innocence through dark lashes.

“Show off,” Stiles laughs, spreading the fly of his jeans to expose gray boxer briefs, but going no further.  Derek reaches for the top of the briefs with his teeth, but Stiles winds fingers in his hair and tugs him gently away.  “Not yet.  Like this for right now.”

The heat and wetness of Derek’s mouth are muted through the cotton, and it makes Stiles tremble with want.  But he’s in the mood for a little teasing tonight, wants to let Derek feel him fill and thicken more than he wants to feel it himself.  Stiles lets his legs spread to make more room for Derek, then leans back against the wall for support.

“Oh fuck,” he chokes out, fingertips rubbing firm circles in Derek’s scalp as Derek sucks him through the fabric, moving his mouth over Stiles’ length with lethal precision.  He can use his teeth like this, blunted pressure instead of pain, and Stiles head falls back against the wall as he swears heartily, gasping words of praise that make Derek suck harder, bury his face deeper until Stiles’ underwear is soaked and the head of his cock has pushed its way above the elastic.

Derek goes straight for it, using the point of his tongue like a weapon until he’s rewarded with a fat drop of precum.  Stiles’ hands fist in Derek’s hair – a warning – but it’s hard to chasten Derek for something that feels so goddamned good, that makes _Derek_ moan with delight.

Derek has to work for every inch, going back and forth between tugging the elastic down with his teeth and sucking at blood-hot, tender skin.  Stiles has to let go of Derek’s hair and grip his shoulders instead, mostly to keep himself from positioning Derek’s head exactly where he wants it.  It would be too much, too soon, and Stiles can’t recover as fast as he used to.  Sometimes he misses those days – the newness of it; the sweet fumbling; the awkward, initially one-sided negotiations; the combination of embarrassment and delight at coming on a hair-trigger and knowing he’d be good to go again within minutes – but it’s with fond nostalgia.  This, what they have now, the depth of trust and intimate knowledge of each other’s bodies – it’s been hard won, and Stiles can’t think of anything better.

Especially once Derek has managed to free Stiles’ cock and is sucking it lazily.  Stiles isn’t sure whether to laugh or curse at the fact that Derek’s picked up on the languid, playful mood, so he just digs his fingers into the muscle of Derek’s shoulders and moans.  “Show me,” Stiles says, and Derek pulls back – back, but not off – so that Stiles can look down and see Derek’s cock, hard and thick and starting to glisten at the tip.

“Beautiful,” Stiles murmurs as Derek goes back to work, sucking a little harder now, curling his tongue sinfully, and Stiles’ only regret is that he’s not going to be able to take much more of it.  Derek’s mouth was always Stiles’ weakness.  Well, one of them, anyway.

He lets Derek have a few more good, hard pulls until Stiles is unable to stop from rocking his hips.  Derek is visibly pleased with himself, but he lets Stiles pull him off without resisting, unless a slightly indignant little grunt counts.  Stiles chuckles indulgently, thumb rubbing at the swollenness of Derek’s lower lip.  “It’s up to you.  You can finish me off here if you want, but it’s gonna be a while before I can fuck you.”

Derek looks mournfully at Stiles’ flushed, heavy cock and pouts, he actually fucking _pouts_ , and Stiles has to bite back on an out-and-out laugh.  Not only would it probably ruin the mood, but Stiles doesn’t want to damage Derek’s big, bad alpha ego – which is surprisingly sensitive, considering the things he’ll do for Stiles, the things he’ll let Stiles do to him.  But there’s a line there, a line that Stiles used to get a kick out of bounding right over until Derek started trusting him like this.  He still gets under Derek’s skin on a regular basis, but never for the fun of it.  Not anymore.

But Derek seems to have made his decision and is rising back up to his feet with more grace than Stiles could ever manage, even with arms unbound.  He kisses Derek again, deep but teasing, and takes Derek’s cock in his hand.  It fits so nicely there, curled tight in Stiles’ long fingers, and he gives Derek a few dry strokes, just enough to make him shudder and groan.

They don’t really have rules for this.  Maybe they should, maybe that’s what responsible people do, but Stiles makes no claims to responsibility and Derek only half-fits the “people” bit anyway, so they make it up as they go along.  It’s a nice break from Stiles’ usual need to plan for an endless number of consequences and contingencies and outright nightmares that no one else would think to predict, because he has to.  Because it’s what he can do to keep them all safe, to keep Derek safe, even if it only works some of the time.

So he’s never told Derek not to talk when they do this.  Derek just doesn’t seem to want to, and just like Stiles doesn’t have to plan, Derek doesn’t have to force his desires into words when he can communicate just about everything through body language.  And Derek has a very, _very_ expressive body.

Case in point: he takes Stiles’ lower lip between his teeth and tugs.  It gets Stiles’ feet moving, and together they make it to the bed.  Stiles reluctantly lets go to dig the lube out of the drawer, and when he turns back, Derek is on his knees, carefully lowering his chest to the bed.  Stiles helps guide him down – not because Derek needs the help, but because Stiles wants to.  He wants to help Derek settle his weight on his upper chest and shoulders, make sure Derek’s face isn’t smashed into a pillow, because positioned like this, his ass in the air, there’s absolutely no mistaking what Derek wants.

Well, there are things Stiles wants, too, and most of them are spread neatly in front of him.  It’s enough to make him dizzy, Derek’s unbelievable ass on display, legs spread wide enough the Stiles can see the tight pink pucker just waiting for him.  _Oh_ yes, Stiles is going to take his time and enjoy the hell out of this.

He shucks his jeans and underwear before climbing up on the bed behind Derek, who can’t seem to suppress a shudder when Stiles’ hands grip him and spread him even farther open.  Stiles can see him fighting not to squirm – a battle he’s going to lose in a minute, because what Stiles is about to do drives him fucking insane.  He only lets Stiles do it to him on nights like this, when he’s already surrendered up the rest of his himself.

Stiles could make him wait, draw it out a bit, but Derek is already so tense and Stiles knows plenty of other ways to tease him.  Breathing hot and wet over his hole is a good start, makes Derek’s whole body jerk before Stiles has even touched him there.  Then Stiles mouths around a little bit, sinking his teeth into the firm flesh of Derek’s ass and watching the marks fade almost as soon as they rise to the surface.   It’s a shame, really, that Stiles can’t mark him up, just a little.  It’s not nearly as important to him as it is to Derek, but it would be nice to watch Derek grump around in front of the rest of the pack, knowing he’s got a fresh imprint of Stiles’ teeth on his ass. 

No, “nice” doesn’t really do it justice.  Something more like “gratifying” or “amusing” or “a huge fucking turn-on.” 

Ah, well.  There are so many better things for Stiles to concentrate on.  Like licking a wide spiral around Derek’s hole, Stiles’ tongue circling closer and closer to the very center until Derek has to be holding back on a seriously needy whimper.  Stiles decides on a whim that he’s not going to stop until he pulls the sound out of Derek, so he continues using the very tip of his tongue to tease and flick and draw random patterns all the way from Derek’s tailbone to the delicate skin behind his balls.  That’s what finally gets Derek to whine and shove back against Stiles’ face.

Luckily, Stiles is ready for it and catches most of the force with his hands so he doesn’t get his nose squashed – that wouldn’t be pleasant for either of them.  But he’s happy that Derek is communicating what he wants , so he lays a wet, open-mouthed kiss right over Derek’s hole, tongue sweeping hot and dirty like he’s kissing Derek’s mouth, and Stiles doesn’t even have a _word_ for the sound Derek makes this time.

Now he can set about opening Derek up in earnest, thumbs spreading him enough for Stiles to be able to work his tongue in a little.  Derek is so _tight_ , god, he must have waited too long to ask for this.  The collar and cuffs were his idea, a way to break him out of the guilt spiral that still takes hold of him from time to time.  Stiles will never forget the day Derek first shoved the brand-new leather straps into his hands, mumbling a question Stiles couldn’t quite understand because all he heard was the unspoken _I’ve never trusted anyone else with this_.  Stiles is sure he probably gaped like a fish for a full minute before throwing his arms around Derek and promising him anything he wanted, whenever he wanted it.

So Derek brings out the collar and cuffs when he gets overwhelmed, when being alpha of a still-growing pack is too much for him.  As they’ve become more established, they’ve gotten fewer and fewer outsiders attempting shenanigans in their territory, but they still have to pull a Scooby Gang every once in a while and someone usually gets hurt, if only temporarily, and Derek’s never stopped taking it personally.  But the thing with the wendigo was weeks ago, and if Derek’s been agonizing over it all this time, Stiles should have seen the signs before now.

But he can make up for it right here, right now, by slowly breaking Derek apart until there’s nowhere for the guilt to hide.  It takes time, and Stiles’ jaw is aching by the time he can finally fuck his tongue into Derek’s hole, but it’s absolutely worth it for the more or less constant rumbling moan that Derek probably doesn’t even know he’s making.  If he only knew how fucking wrecked he sounds, and Stiles is just getting started.

Soon, though, Stiles really does have to pull away to pop his jaw and give his exhausted tongue a rest, but luckily, Derek is just as fond of his fingers – maybe more so, the way Stiles sometimes catches Derek staring at his hands as he carefully copies down runes or grinds up mountain ash.  No way is Derek that interested in supernatural things that can’t be snarled into submission.

By now, Derek is loose enough for one well-lubed finger, but Stiles works it in slowly, circling the rim of his hole before pushing just the tip in.  Fuck, Stiles never gets over how _hot_ Derek is – in the looks department, yes, but in the temperature department as well.  It always makes him wonder how his own body feels to Derek, whether he feels unnaturally cool or whether it’s soothing.  If Derek has a problem with it, he’s never said anything (except when Stiles comes to bed with ice-cold feet, but Stiles can pretty much understand that).

He works his finger in, feeling the familiar rough-smooth texture, letting himself appreciate how intimate this is.  Maybe it’s because he’s never done anything like this with anyone else, with someone who might take this vulnerability for granted, but Derek’s letting him inside his body, and Stiles accepts it for the gift that it is.  It goes both ways, too.  Not that they don’t indulge in things like the occasional angry, adrenaline-fueled up-against-the-wall fuck – Derek does that one exceptionally well, in fact – but Derek has never treated Stiles’ body as a _thing_ , an object to be used.  And Stiles is always going to afford him the same courtesy, even if Derek doesn’t always think he deserves it.

Stiles moves on to the second finger relatively quickly, because he can feel Derek loosening already and Stiles can work his prostate better with two fingers.  It makes Derek buck and strain and drip messily all over the sheets, and it hits Stiles like a bat to the head how turned on _he_ is.  He has to let go of Derek’s hip to palm himself with his free hand, all sweat-stuttering friction but enough to make him gasp and feel the bone-deep need to thrust.

He’s fucking into Derek with three fingers sooner than he’d intended, but his own need is kicking in – kicking his ass, more like – and he’s not as selfless as he wants to be.  It’s not like Derek really minds, either; once, in a post-orgasmic haze, he’d confessed that if Stiles fucks him hard enough, Derek will heal slowly enough to let him feel sore afterwards.  Not very long, just a little while, like Stiles is still inside him.  It’s as close to a flat-out request as Stiles has ever gotten, and on nights like this he fills it enthusiastically.

“Good?” Stiles asks breathlessly, and Derek shoves back on his fingers by way of answer.  Stiles slicks himself quickly and pushes up to his knees, lining himself up with one hand while the other slides down Derek’s sweat-slick back until his fingers tangle with Derek’s.  Taking huge gulps of air, Stiles forces himself to push in slowly, feel every inch as Derek’s body seems to pull him in.  Derek is huffing out little sobs like the breath is being pushed out of him, and Stiles clutches his fingers tighter and gently rubs Derek’s hip with his other hand.  It’s moments like this when he wishes so badly that he could know what’s going on in Derek’s head, but he’s pretty sure Derek couldn’t articulate it even if he were inclined to.  All Stiles can do is pay attention to what Derek does, the way he finally relaxes a little when Stiles is all the way in, the hitch of his breath when Stiles starts to thrust.

He keeps the rhythm slow at first, letting Derek adjust – his mind as much as his body.  All that muscle, all that power, bound up less by the paltry strip of leather than by Derek’s will, and all for Stiles.  He has to let his eyes slip shut to keep the pace steady, work them both up slowly.  But with nothing to focus on save for the tight slide of his cock in and out of Derek’s body, it’s making Stiles start to tremble, wanting to chase that teasing edge where pleasure blooms into ecstasy, but he also wants to hold out a little longer, make it last.

Soft words spill from his lips, the sweet and the dirty all mixed together because he can’t tell the two apart, not now.  He barely even knows what he’s saying, all he can hear is Derek’s response: the half-muffled moans, the shaky gasps.  Derek is starting to rock back against him now, and when Stiles opens his eyes, he sees Derek’s free hand straining back, fingers outstretched.  Stiles groans with need and laces their fingers together, both hands now gripping tightly to Derek’s.

It gives him the leverage he needs to thrust hard, and when he does, Derek _keens_ , pulling at Stiles like he can get him even deeper.  Stiles swears and shudders and gives in, pistoning his hips fast and rough, no finesse at all, just driving into Derek over and over until Stiles feels like he could die from this, from how perfect it is, from how Derek’s unfiltered, desperate moans sound like _yes_ and _more_ and _please_.  Derek’s spreading his legs and arching his back so hard it must ache, even though Stiles is going to be the one feeling it in the morning.  He gives Derek everything he’s got, both of them knowing he can’t last long.

And he doesn’t.  A few more brutal thrusts and he’s howling as he comes, ravaged by an orgasm that turns him inside out, all his nerve endings exposed and singing.  The only thing keeping him from dissolving completely is their linked hands, Derek clutching Stiles just as hard as Stiles is clutching him.  They hold on through Stiles’ last few, feeble thrusts, his muscles turning to jelly, until Stiles reluctantly has to let go to pull out.

They both hiss at the loss of connection, and Stiles’ body is telling him to drape himself over the warmth of Derek’s back, settle in and just sleep, but Derek’s been waiting so patiently.  He’s whimpering with unfulfilled need, holding himself so still he’s quivering, and Stiles sits back on his heels and soothes him with surprisingly steady hands up and down Derek’s thighs.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers hoarsely.  “Hush now, I’ve got you.”  And he presses three fingers back into Derek’s well-used hole, Derek moaning in gratitude at being filled again.

It’s Stiles’ turn to whimper at the sight of his own cum leaking out of Derek’s ass.  No more playing around – he gives Derek exactly what he needs, just the right amount of pressure rubbing back and forth against his prostate, Stiles’ other hand cupping Derek’s balls, rubbing the sweet spot behind them until he’s stimulating Derek inside and out, and with a surprisingly soft sound, Derek shivers and comes, cock untouched but shooting hard across the bed.  Stiles reaches down to gently stroke the last few spurts out of him until Derek is shaking all over, his knees barely holding him up anymore.

Pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the swell of Derek’s ass, Stiles withdraws his fingers, and Derek is too spent to object.  Stiles moves quickly then, wiping his hands on the sheet before helping Derek stretch out on his stomach and unbuckling the cuffs.  He doesn’t really need to rub Derek’s arms and hands to make sure the blood’s circulating properly – he’s pretty sure werewolves don’t get pins and needles – but he does it anyway because he likes it.  And he suspects Derek likes it, too.

Stiles unbuckles the collar and pulls it away, setting it aside reverently and helping Derek turn onto his back (but not before kissing Derek’s tattoo – he never misses an opportunity for that).  Derek’s eyes are still closed, and Stiles doesn’t even bother with the cuffs for now, just gently strokes the line of Derek’s jaw.

“Time to come back,” he whispers, brushing his lips against Derek’s cheek.  Even after Derek’s eyes open, it takes them a few moments to focus.  “Hey,” Stiles says, and the grin spreading across his own face is lopsided and goofy and utterly irrepressible.

Derek doesn’t quite smile back – he’s still a little too far gone for that – but he looks relaxed and deeply content, and on Derek, that’s just about as good as an ear-to-ear grin.  Stiles keeps touching him, long strokes of his hands down Derek’s arms, his sides, his chest as Stiles tells Derek how perfect he is, how beautiful, how _good_.  It’s just about the only time Derek is open to hearing it, and Stiles needs him to know.

Stiles wishes it could go on forever like this, but his hand runs into the tacky mess drying on Derek’s stomach and he’s reminded of the practicalities.  He gives Derek a quick kiss and reassurance that he’ll be right back, heart only aching a little at the soft noise of protest, and goes as quickly as he can on not-quite-steady legs to the bathroom to get a damp washcloth.  Yeah, he’s definitely going to be the sore one tomorrow.

But he has zero regrets when he’s carefully wiping Derek down, running the cloth over his belly and carefully between his legs.  He grunts a little when Stiles does, like it’s still tender down there, and when Stiles looks up, Derek is smiling for real now.  “Crazy werewolf kinks,” Stiles mutters, trying (and failing) to keep the corners of his mouth from turning up.

When he’s finished, the washcloth is a mess – as is the top sheet, which Stiles yanks off and bunches up to toss in the corner.  He’s just pulling the blanket up over them when Derek has obviously recovered enough to get his arms around Stiles and tug him to lie mostly on top of Derek.   Stiles yelps with surprise, but manages to land on Derek’s chest without elbowing him in the face, so it’s a win all around.

Derek pulls him into a kiss, surprisingly sweet and chaste, but at least Stiles has managed to curtail Derek’s habit of saying _thank you_ after they do this.  Yes, it’s astonishing even to him that he wants to stop Derek from actually thanking him for something, but it’s not like he’s doing this as a favor.  Stiles is still in the process of trying to get Derek to understand that he gets just as much out of it as Derek does.

“Don’t wait so long next time,” Stiles murmurs against Derek’s lips.  “Tell me before it gets bad.”

Derek answers him with a kiss, deeper this time, and Stiles lays a hand on Derek’s chest, right over his heart.  Derek whispers into the kiss, the first words he’s said all night, but they’re the only words Stiles needs to hear.


End file.
